For all the naysayers, I am pleased to announce that I have still not had a drop of liquor since my decision to give my liver a one month break. The other thing? Yeah. Well. I tried.My boss (otherwise known on these Internets as "the hot owner of Gstaad) said to me, "Could you do us a favor and not tell the customers that you're not having sex for a month? We don't sell liquor here. We sell dreams."

Well, I have dreams too. Ain't nothin' wrong with that. Anyway, let's focus on the big picture here. I haven't had a drink in almost three weeks. This is big. I work around liquor. I live a lifestyle fueled by the drink. I am one to be intoxicated. I'm through the Lookingglass! That's what grownups in New York do. We meet over drinks and tell stories. It's primal.

I've still been going out until 7 in the morning, mind you. I just drink a club soda instead and listen more than talk.

However, some would call my victory Pyrrhic. I haven't had a drink, but I haven't been completely sober. One of my favorite barflys commented to me, "There is something so bourgeoisie about abstinence." I agree. Give me muddled perception. The world is too much with us late and soon.

So, in this voluntary dry spell, I have. . .gulp. . .yes. . .started smoking again. If anything, it gets me out of the bar for a bit and away from my drunk friends. Drunk people, by the way, aren't nearly as interesting when you are stone cold sober.

Let's stay focused on the big pic, though. Some good has come of this. I felt as though I should come forth with this info, because I have a new favorite thing to do. One of my lovely windows opens up to a fire escape. At any given moment, you may see me in boxer shorts and a pink rabbit fur coat, sitting in my window and smoking an American Spirit menthol. Thinking.

My apartment is directly above the gaudiest orange and yellow burger joint you can picture in your mind's eye. It's called "Lucky's Famous Burgers" where they claim to have the best burgers in the galaxy. At night, I am underlit by the warm glow of the saffron lights of Lucky's. I gaze at the tops of people heads as the bop along to their individual rhythms. My find is full of poetry.

I hate to admit it, but I secretly hope to be serenaded by someone from below. Maybe even a Lloyd Dobbler boombox homage, but instead of Peter Gabriel, he will play Otis Redding.

Which brings me to the wagon that I didn't stay on.

I told my friend, Drew, that I felt that I was being distracted by artificial satisfaction which is why I am taking a break. He nodded and said, "Yup. Booze and boys."

Booze and boys indeed. I love boys. I love the way the smell. The way they move. The way they are distant and close at the same time. They are maddening and addictive. And I choose all the wrong ones because they destroy me and make me want more.

I disagree politely with Carmen McCrae. My romance does need a dance to a constantly surprising refrain.

Remember in high school when your hormones were raging and all you thought about was sex and you got these insanely obsessive crushes? Well, imagine the same ridiculous behavior, only now you are 30 not 13.

It's not nearly as cute.

I think about sex all the time. All. The. Time. It's a problem.

Recently, g8s and I went to see Dennis in Indiana. He took us to Metropolis, a lovely gay bar in Indianapolis with various levels, one of which led to a sex shop full of the usual fare: dildos and lubricants and butt plugs. Oh my! It was lovely fun for Miss Hag. Standing around with a cocktail, examining sex toys and talking shop with the cute boys working the counter.

As we regaled the staff with the story of my first experience with poppers, I realized that I needed to tell Dennis my fear. He would know what to do.

I told him that I thought perhaps I have a problem. I have been officially single for six months now and I haven't actually gone on a date. I have had lots of sex with quite a few lovely lads, but no one has actually bought me a dinner I didn't feel like eating or taken me to a movie I didn't really want to see.

I'm not dating; I have friends that I have sex with once in a while. I don't know much about them and none of them know very much about me. I've only let one sleep in my bed with me and that's only because he smells so damn good. I do, however, have fantasies about building a fort of men and crawling inside so I can be surrounded by boys. I imagine it to be a peaceful and lovely place. My man fort.

"That's fine, sweetheart."

"It is? "

"Of course! Honey. Listen. I love you. Absolutely. But, what you and I have is only one strand of DNA away from real romantic love because I don't put my penis in you."

(Seriously. This is how we talk.)

"Besides, " Dennis continued, "If you meet a guy and fuck him and you don't enjoy it, then you'll probably not enjoy eating Pad Thai with him either, so why bother pursuing it any further? You know it won't go anywhere if he doesn't satisfy you. That's just the way we are. Accept it."

"Well, I might just give him one more chance, but that's it."

"That's the difference between you and I, baby. Anyway, what are you worried about? You're young. You're beautiful. And you're single for the first time in seven years. You're having fun right?"

But, today, I spent the greater part of the morning at the free clinic pondering my sex life. (Sex is all they talk about there. Really.) After getting a clean bill of health from a wonderful doctor named Tom, we sat and chatted for a while.

"I feel like every time I come here it's like coming to confession."

Tom chuckled. "Look, I don't judge anyone that comes through here. You're making choices for yourself. You are an intelligent woman. You aren't stupid even if you think you make foolish decisions once in a while."

"That's true."

"But, the way I see it, there are certain things you can control. The things you do that bring you here are actions you have some control over."

"Yeah."

"So, why not make things simpler in the now so they don't get complicated in the future? You know?"

I took Tom's advice and I walked home. It was dreary when I left my apartment, but by midday the sun chose to make an appearance, enlivening the meager foliage of Manhattan. My favorite season is almost over and I'm facing my first winter alone. And, in the spirit of my singularity, I have decided to keep it really simple for a while.

I'm challenging myself to not have sex or alcohol for a month. Just to see.

It's been 48 hours without a drop of drink and about 137 hours without sex.